


Poisoned

by Failing_Physics



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, I Don't Even Know, Mutual Pining, Poison, and roach is tired, geralt is stressed, jaskier is a buffoon, this is gonna be my first chaptered work so yea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failing_Physics/pseuds/Failing_Physics
Summary: This was not the first time Jaskier had gotten into trouble, but this time it's more serious than either Geralt or Jaskier imagined
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be my first work w/ chapters in so i'll try to update regularly but i'm bad at schedules and also it's exam year so we'll see how that goes

“Ya owe me money, bard.”  
This was not the first time Jaskier had been cornered and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.   
“Ah, well, I think maybe you’ve got the wrong person,” he commented, eyes watering at the man’s stench and trying desperately not to wrinkle his nose. That’d get him stabbed for sure. Goddamn it where was Geralt when you needed him?   
“Are ya tryin’ to mock me bard?”   
Jaskier swallowed as he felt the cool steel blade lightly rest on his exposed throat and he tried for a smile that felt like more of a grimace. Evidently it wasn’t convincing because the knife pressed harder.   
“Oh God, use your words, Bill, use your words!” he gasped.  
Bill paused, matted brow furrowing for a minute before apparently deciding that that was an insult and pressing the knife harder against Jaskier’s skin.   
“Don’t patronize me, ya Witcher friend ain't around to help you out for this one.”  
“Ah, yes, Geralt is being rather late right now, so you better start running and get a head start!” Jaskier retorted, edging further up against the brickwork, a reminder that he was most definitely trapped. Bill laughed humorously and Jaskier felt blood running down his neck. Bollocks. “Bill, come on, that’s going to scar, and wouldn’t you forgive an old friend for his errors -”  
“I ain’t ya friend.”  
“Yes, well -”  
“And I’m going to kill ya now, bard, unless you cough up.”  
“Don’t be so hasty Bill -”  
“Fucking hell Jaskier, what have you done now.”  
Relief crashed over Jaskier at the low cadence of Geralt’s voice.   
“You’re late.”  
“Hmm.”  
Bill’s scraggly face had gone deathly pale under the inch of grime as he beheld the famed Witcher, but, nonetheless, the knife pressed deeper and Jaskier visibly flinched this time. But that new-found conviction lasted about up until Geralt made to draw his sword and Bill gasped, dropped the knife, and fled into the darkness. Jaskier took a step forward, some clever retort on his tongue and Geralt’s irritated face looking down at him - before his legs buckled and his knees painfully struck the cobblestones. Jaskier felt himself falling again, but this time he felt rough linen, not stone, catch his skin as Geralt lowered the bard to the ground.   
“G-Geralt?” Jaskier gasped as the village started to spin and, disoriented, he clutched the Witcher’s forearm desperately.  
“That blade had poison on, you fool,” Geralt growled, roughly inspecting the wound, and avoiding Jaskier’s eyes that had widened at the repressed flash of panic on Geralt’s face. The sudden pain was a band of burning iron clamped around his throat and he screamed, high and loud. The agony washed over him, his hands moving to claw at the skin, before they were slapped away and roughly bound together.   
“Geralt!?” the bard moaned through ragged breaths and wails of pain.  
“I’m here Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle as Jaskier writhed as he was carefully lifted up, before another bout of pain crashed over him and he stopped thinking at all.  
\---------------  
Shit, shit, shit. Geralt spurred Roach on through the dense, snow-laden trees, feeling Jaskier’s limp body being thrown about with spasms of coughs every time he breathed. Something like panic was edging into Geralt’s mind but he firmly shoved it away and narrowed his attention to the bard’s rasping breaths that were growing weaker and weaker with every exhale.  
“You are not dying on me,” the Witcher snarled and tightened his grip on the unconscious bard. The snow was falling so thickly now that Geralt barely noticed the gleam of torchlight through the trees. Narrowing his eyes, he urged Roach on, following the lights of the far-off village. The slick snow under Roach suddenly slipped and she stumbled slightly before regaining her footing. The torches of the community were glaring now as Geralt slowed Roach and they entered the silent village. A door opened, light and warmth spilling out into the snow as a rather haggard-looking man poked his head around the door, brow furrowed - before noticing the famed Witcher and his eyes widened, in fear or surprise Geralt didn’t care.  
“Healer?” He bellowed and the figure pointed up the village mutely before retreating and slamming the door. Pressing Roach onward, Geralt felt Jaskier stir in his arms, moaning with pain.   
“Fuck... Gerald… hurts.”  
“I know Jaskier, I know. Hang on, we’re going to get you to a healer,” but Geralt knew that before he had finished Jaskier had slipped back into unconsciousness.   
“Fuck!” Geralt growled, and, holding the limp bard in his arms, he slipped off Roach and made for the healer’s hut. Throwing open the heavy oak door, he placed Jaskier gently on the first surface he saw and unbound his hands from the thick rope that had been stopping Jaskier from clawing his own throat out from the pain.  
“Healer?” he snarled, starting forward towards a doorway before a small, mousy woman appeared, a shock of red hair sweeping across her shoulders and freckles peppered across her skin. Geralt slammed down the poisoned knife that he had scooped up from the ally floor.  
“He was poisoned. By this. Fix him.”   
The woman widened her eyes at the Witcher, but made her way over to the table, and inspected the knife before moving onto the bard.  
“Well?” Geralt demanded, panic beginning to creep in again at her flat expression.  
“It’s snake venom - don’t worry it’s fairly common around here, I can cure it. It’s just good you got him here when you did. Another few minutes and he’d be dead.”   
Geralt resumed pacing the room, his hawk eyes never leaving the healer as she powdered herbs and plastered a murky-looking salve onto the swollen knife wound at his neck.   
“Support his head,” the woman snapped, her fear of the Witcher melting under the more urgent need to take care of her patient. Geralt blinked at her tone, but started forward and held Jaskier’s head in his calloused hands. The woman bent over a flask of blue-silver liquid, muttering something rapidly under her breath as the substance glowed slightly, before she snatched it up and strode over to the unconscious bard. Gently, the healer tipped the liquid back into Jaskier’s mouth. Almost immediately the bard’s breathing began to ease and the woman released a shaky sigh.   
“Right,” she said, “That’ll be fifteen crowns - and you better sleep here tonight, he’ll be out until morning.”

\---------------  
Geralt opened his eyes, waiting for them to adjust in the half-darkness. The sound of muffled muttering came from Jaskier’s bed and the Geralt sat up, glancing over and realizing what had woken him. The dark shape of the bard was shifting about, fighting against whatever drug the healer had Given him. Rubbing his eyes, Geralt stood up and made his way over to Jaskier just as he opened his eyes groggily, and before they widened in panic as he beheld the hulking shape of the Witcher leaning over him.   
“Who the bloody hell are you?!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is terrified to find that after waking up Jaskier can't remember him.

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

Jaskier scrambled backwards, eyes desperately flickering over Geralt and resting on the wickedly curved knife by his side.    


“Who- who are you?”   


Geralt froze at the bard’s terrified expression.   


“L-look, I don’t know who you are but -” Geralt watched Jaskier’s eyes settle on his wolf pendent. “Oh  _ fuck  _ you’re a Witcher aren’t you! Look I-I have money - just - please - don’t hurt me-”   


“Jaskier.” Geralt ment for the word to come out soothingly, but by the way Jaskier clutched the bed sheets tighter, it had the opposite effect.    


“How do you know my name? Oh God did that bastard Lord Raulf hire you, because  _ I did not sleep with his wife.  _ I was only in her chambers because, because we were paying a rather intense game of cards. I swear to you.” Despite Jaskier’s position, a slightly smug expression broke through his petrified form, but even that melted under Geralt’s gaze.   
His heart was supposed to be frozen, but Geralt could have sworn that he heard it crack as he stared down at Jaskier’s quivering form.    


“Jaskier, it’s me, it’s Geralt.”   


This time Jaskier didn’t respond and drew himself tighter, eyes scanning the room for an exit that didn’t involve fighting the Witcher. Any other time, and another place, Geralt would’ve teased Jaskier about looking like a terrified rabbit, but here and now he could only think about how small the other man looked. He reached forward but Jaskier flinched back. 

“I’ll - I’ll scream,” he threatened, though his movements were still slow and stilted from the drug, Geralt drew back. Though he knew it wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, a flash of hurt and shock coursed through him. Jaskier had never flinched away from him, and Geralt was shocked to discover that he’d gotten used to Jaskier’s refusal to fear him. The Witcher backed away.   


“Stay here.” he grunted, before ducking out the room and slamming the door.    


_ What the hell am I doing? The bard doesn’t remember you, just leave. Now’s your chance. Take Roach and go. _ But even as these thoughts clamored at him, Geralt was striding down the stairs to where the healer was sitting, that insufferably calm expression on her face as stared at him.    


“So, he’s awake,” she said by way of greeting. Geralt bared his teeth.   


“What the fuck did you do to him? Why can’t he remember me?!”   


The woman stood and strode over to where a pot of water was heating and poured herself some. “Tea?” she asked mildly.   


“Goddamnit!” Geralt slammed his knife into the table, “Give me an answer!”   


The healer sighed. “Look. he was having a bad reaction to the poison - one I hadn’t seen before; it must have been mixed with something nasty. So I decided to do the only thing I could think of- I gave him that concoction which negates most poisons. And as it happens, one of the side-effects seems to be, ah, memory loss.” She held up her hand as Geralt’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t normally give that one to patients, but, you saw how your friend was, there wasn’t exactly time to diagnose the poison and treat it before, well, you know.””   


“Some shit healer you turned out to be.”    


The healer’s eyes blazed at that comment and Geralt felt a moment’s satisfaction at getting under her calm composure.    


“I happen to be an  _ excellent _ healer thank you very much. A shit healer would’ve let your friend die, but he’s very much alive isn’t he?”   


Geralt sat heavily in a chair. “Can you fix him then, considering that you’re such an _excellent_ _healer_.”   


At that she hesitated. “Ah, well, his memories will eventually return. But when is anyone’s guess. It could be a few day or…”   


“Or?” Geralt ground out.    


“A few decades.”   


“Shit.”   


“Yeah.”   


_ What if he never remembers me. What if- why should that matter? He’s just the bard that I keep running into.  _ Geralt tried to crush the slow feeling of guilt that was spreading horribly through his veins. He opened his mouth but before he could continue was practically an interrogation at this point, a resounding crash echoed from directly above.    


“Jaskier!” The Witcher hurtled up the narrow staircase and into the room. Of course it was empty. And of course the window was ajar, a breeze fluttering the curtains.

\-------------

It wasn’t hard to find Jaskier, even in the state that he was in. Geralt had learnt a long while ago that to find Jaskier you only had to follow the sound of laughter and raised voices. And sure enough Geralt followed the sound of merriment before finding the bard in the local tavern (unsurprising), holding a pint of ale (predictable). With only a slight hesitation, he pushed open the door.    


“- and so I wake up and there’s this fucking massive Witcher leaning over me, and I’m bloody terrified and just leap out the window -” Jaskier stopped his story to take a swig of ale and wink at the handsome barkeep. Something that felt awfully like jealousy started clawing its way up Geralt’s veins and he roughly shoved it back, deep, deep down into him.  _ Right, no, he was going to get that stupid bard’s memories back if it killed him _ . Geralt threw open the door slightly too hard by the way the bar’s patrons stared at him and Jaskier’s face went three shades whiter than normal. Too late to turn back now, Geralt stormed in stonily ignoring the way the tavern went deadly silent.    


“Jaskier.”   


But instead of screaming or running, the bard only answered in a hoarse whisper, “You’re so familiar… why don’t I remember you - why don't I remember _anything_?”   


“You - you were poisoned and the antidote wiped your memories. Do you truly not remember anything? The child surprise, the djinn…” Geralt suddenly snapped his fingers, 

“There’s a sorcerer in the next town. He can help.” But when he looked at Jaskier’s face, the poet’s eyes were still shadowed with mistrust. There was a long pause before he finally answered Geralt, and even the witcher could see that the words were being reluctantly dragged out of him.   


“Fine, I’ll - I’ll go with you.” 

Geralt nodded in satisfaction, but even as he did so, a vice-like grip was squeezing his heart so forcefully he thought it might shatter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to the sorcerer's tower doesn't go as planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response on this fanfic has been amazing, thank you!

Jaskier slogged along the claggy path through the trees, his eyes not leaving the Witcher who was forging ahead of him with that large chestnut mare’s reigns grasped in his fingers. A silence had fallen over the pair, and Jaskier desperately wanted to break it - to ask about the Witcher, his life, why he claimed to know Jaskier - but at the same time was deathly afraid of shattering the fragile silence. And still his eyes followed the Witcher’s movements - so Jaskier was the first to notice Roach’s growing unease. The mare was snorting, flicking her ears back and tugging at her reigns until she abruptly skidded to a halt, grinding her hooves into the mud and reusing to take another step. Jaskier was sure he hadn’t seen Geralt draw his sword, but suddenly there it was in his hand. He turned as a hulking and vaguely humanoid monster exploded out of the treeline. Jaskier had a distinct notion of fangs and large golden eyes before he was grabbed and thrust behind the Witcher and, still hanging onto Jaskier, Geralt took one step forward, slashing with the gleaming silver blade. There was a dull thump and a stomach-wrenching shriek as the metal made contact and then a series of frenzied crashes as the creature vanished as quickly as it had come back into the forest. 

Jaskier realized he was trembling as he stared at the dense woods where the monster disappeared. He also realized that he was clutching Geralt’s sleeve so hard that his fingers had gone white and that the Witcher had made made no effort to untangle his hands from the linin. Hurriedly, Jaskier let go with a rushed ‘sorry’ and backed away. The Witcher looked like he was going to say something for a second, but decided against it and just muttered ‘come on Roach’ before continuing onwards. Jaskier followed. 

______________

Geralt never knew how much he’d gotten used to Jaskier’s ramblings in the times they’d travelled together until they were gone. Ramblings about how the sun’s rays reminded him of one of his lover’s golden hair, half finished rhymes, ideas for poems or ballads, and Geralt had quickly realized that Jaskier didn’t always need an answer and was perfectly content to talk just for the sake of filling a silence. But now that same silence stretched between them, thin and brittle. 

The place where Jaskier had gripped his arm burned like a brand under the heavy leather. He ground his teeth together and shook head head slightly.  _ No. Emotions made you slow,  _ he reminded himself,  _ emotions got you killed _ . He glanced back to where Jaskier was trailing miserably behind him and felt settled in his resolve to take the bard to a sorcerer. Once the fool poet was fixed he could leave to his next contract, but like this, Jaskier would be helpless, and if he was really honest, Geralt hated the idea of him wandering around, vulnerable and alone. 

______________

“What do mean you can’t cure him?”

The sorcerer gave a long suffering sigh, but didn’t put down the scissors from where he was trimming a vine-like plant with deep black flowers. 

“I mean,” he said, “That the potion that your friend was given is irreversible.”    
“And how would  _ you _ know?”

“Because,  _ Witcher _ , I made it.” 

Geralt stared at him. “What.”

“Yes, that lovely healer, Lillian, she buys the potions she can’t make herself from me, which is getting fewer and fewer these days.” he sniffed, “she’s a very talented herbalist.”

“So you can’t get Jaskier’s memories back?” Geralt voice was soft and for the first time the sorcerer turned to face Geralt, as if sensing the impending danger. It was an effort for Geralt to smooth his face into a neutral expression. 

“Look Witcher, I can’t help you-” The sorcerer turned pale as pale as death as Geralt took a step forward. He threw down his scissors and hurriedly moved backwards.

“Maybe you could find a unicorn - I’ve heard that their tears can restore things that have been lost.” 

“The last unicorn was murdered twenty years ago and you know that.”

The sorcerer swallowed hard as he took another step back, almost falling over his ridiculously extravagant robe.

“Or - or maybe you could find a, a phoenix! They’re said to be exceptionally magical!”

“Phoenixes,” Geralt ground out, “don’t exist.”

“Oh, I don’t know - maybe if you could find a djinn or something!”

Geralt suddenly went still and silent. Now there was a possibility he hadn’t discovered . A djinn… that could restore Jaskier’s memories. Geralt narrowed his eyes, remembering the last time the poet had had a run in with one of those… but it wasn’t as if Geralt had a second opinion. Giving the sorcerer one last unpleasant smile, the Witcher left the tower. 

______________

“Jaskier.”

The bard glanced up from where he was sitting stroking Roach, he initially gave a slight start at the sight of the looming Witcher, but the fear that had been haunting his expression since they started travelling had vanished. 

“We need to find a djinn.”

The poet stood up, a hand immediately drifting to his throat.

“The djinn!” The bard’s face brightened momentarily, “Geralt! I remember - there was a djinn and a… witch?” 

Geralt started hard at him. “What else do you remember.”

Jaskier shivered slightly, “Pain, a lot of pain.”

“Do you remember anything else…?”

Jaskier picked up on the unspoken question, “No,” he said quietly, “I don’t remember you.”

There was a silence as the pair tried to look anywhere other than the other’s eyes. 

“Let’s… let’s go and find an inn for the night. We’ll carry on tomorrow, it’s getting dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment, you know you want to :)


End file.
